


The Romanian Assignment Expense Account

by Megkips



Category: Fate/Apocrypha
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megkips/pseuds/Megkips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nokia returns to Kairi’s pocket, and he opens the door to the bar just in time to see a flash of red and steel barreling out. He manages to stand aside just in time to avoid being trampled, and follows the retreating figure for just a moment before turning his head towards the bar’s interior.  The scene inside could be something out of cartoon, with the pile of splinters that might have been a table or two moments before, at least two people in some sort of injury, and a number of nervous heads just peaking out from behind the bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Romanian Assignment Expense Account

Kairi Sisigou knows that magic is a miracle and that magecraft is simply a pale imitation thereof. That the Nokia 3310 mobile phone can survive any mage it comes in contact with suggests that it is indeed a miracle. Maybe the sixth magic, a technological based one, in desperate need of more probing and experimentation to classify further. 

For now, he uses this magic as a tool, and dials the number that connects him to Professor Rocco Belfaban’s ancient phone - the kind that exist only in early silent films with a separate ear piece and receiver. It rings cheerfully once, twice, three, four times, before it is picked up.

“I assume this is a phonecall of success,” is the greeting, delivered in Belfaban’s annoyingly ambiguous generic European accent.

“Yeah,” Kairi confirms. “We’re getting supplies now and head out to Trifas soon.”

Rocco gives a soft, pleased hum. “And it’s exactly who we expected?”

“It is.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Rocco says. “And are you two getting along thus far?”

Kairi begins to say that he supposes so, but is cut off by the sound of extremely loud yelling from the bar he stands outside of. Sirens scream in the distance, and something in Kairi’s gut tells him that his servant is responsible for the sudden cacophony.

“I need to go,” he says, giving the professor no time to respond or ask if he can call back at a later time.

The Nokia returns to Kairi’s pocket, and he opens the door to the bar just in time to see a flash of red and steel barreling out. He manages to stand aside just in time to avoid being trampled, and follows the retreating figure for just a moment before turning his head towards the bar’s interior. The scene inside could be something out of cartoon, with the pile of splinters that might have been a table or two moments before, at least two people in some sort of injury, and a number of nervous heads just peaking out from behind the bar. 

He hopes that someone will blame an indoor tornado for the destruction. It’s certainly more believable than the truth.

“We should go,” Mordred calls, her voice distant.

“Right,” Kairi agrees, finally breaking eye contact with the scene, and walking over towards the suit of armor at the end of the street. They continue for a few more blocks in silence, until the bar is a good half a mile behind them.

Mordred looks up and down the tiny side street they’ve wandered onto in their slow, steady escape from police detection and paying for damages, and asks, “Is there anyone present?”

“No. You can take spirit form undetected.”

In a twinkling of gold dust, Mordred slips into nothingness, presence lingering beside Kairi. “You’ll look mad talking to yourself.”

Kairi shrugs, digging his hands into his jacket pockets. “It’ll be a change from just looking scary. You wanna tell me what happened in there?”

“I was finishing a pint of beer while you were out and was asked by several large and rather stupid looking men who wanted to know why a little girl was dressed like a knight.” Mordred’s voice is cheerful. If she was in physical form right now, she’d be smiling, big and proud. “So I replied that obviously, I am a knight, they laughed and said it was impossible. I ignored them and they proceeded to poke fun at me. It fell to me to demonstrate the truth of my claim, and I did so.”

The two exit the side street onto on a main block, and approach a crosswalk just as a police car zooms by. Kairi tenses for a moment, then relaxes.

“How much damage did you cause?”

Mordred’s voice continues in its good cheer. “Oh. Let’s see, three broken tables, several sundry chairs, two barstools, and a few shallow cuts on their arms and backs of the bullies. I think some people got hurt by the table shrapnel though.”

The _walk_ signal flashes on the other side of the street, and Kairi heads through the crosswalk, contemplating. He knows that the right course of action is to yell at his servant for acting in such a childish manner. It should have been done when Mordred made it clear upon summons that belittling her by focusing on her gender was grounds for violence. 

Kairi grunts, turning to where Mordred’s spirit lingers. “Don’t do something like that again, okay?” he says. “We can’t afford that kind of a fight in Trifas. It’ll give our location away, and maybe some part of your identity. I’m not comfortable with that level of risk.”

“I can do that.” 

Kairi steps onto the sidewalk, knowing that Mordred’s silence is not a signal that the conversation is over. They head down another sides treet.

“Speaking of Trifas,” Mordred ventures. “How’re we getting there anyway?”

“We’re buying a truck,” Kairi confirms flatly.

“In the middle of a city?”

“In the middle of a city.”

“With no background checks or anything.”

“With no background checks or anything. There’s someone selling some relic from 80s for a few hundred Euro. It’ll get us to where we need to be.”

“Great!” Mordred cheers, a whirl of gold dust flicking into view for a second, before disappearing again. “Can I drive?” 

Kairi’s momentary gawking is cut off by a terrifyingly upbeat and excited explanation from Mordred. “Riding skills. S’a class advantage. It means I can drive a car, train, boat, whatever, with complete mastery.”

“We’ll see,” Kairi barely manages, trying to calculate how many tickets might be in his future, and if the Association will be willing to pay them off.


End file.
